A blog where those who are lost come to be found, not necessarily found out. A blog where you can be silly, and expect the same in return. An occasionally serious place, a constantly changing place. It's your Happy Place, and mine. So, let's put on our aprons and let's get busy.

An Award-Winning Disclaimer

A charming little Magpiewhispered this disclaimer into my ear, and I'm happy to regurgitate it into your sweet little mouth:

"Disclaimer: This blog is not responsible for those of you who start to laugh and piss your pants a little. Although this blogger understands the role he has played (in that, if you had not been laughing you may not have pissed yourself), he assumes no liability for damages caused and will not pay your dry cleaning bill.

These views represent the thoughts and opinions of a blogger clearly superior to yourself in every way. If you're in any way offended by any of the content on this blog, it is clearly not the blog for you. Kindly exit the page by clicking on the small 'x' you see at the top right of the screen, and go fuck yourself."

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Well, Kiss A Pig and Lick My Face: It's DEAR APRON Time!

Welcome to Dear Apron, where we take letters written to Dear Abby and, well, hiney-fuck 'em.

DEAR APRON: I have a 19-year-old daughter, "Caitlin," whom I love very much. Despite a few rocky periods, we have a great relationship.

Caitlin moved in with her fiance shortly after she turned 18, and they were married a few months ago. After she left, I went through an "empty nest" period because it was the first time I was alone in 18 years.

When my daughter started coming to visit once a week, I was thrilled. It was sad when she had to leave, but I looked forward to "our days." Then I had to have surgery, and Caitlin came to take care of me. I have since recovered, but now -- two months later -- she's still visiting every day. She sits around watching TV and wants me to sit with her.

I love spending time with my daughter, but frankly, I need a break! I have tried "hinting" that she has her own house, pets and husband, and it would be fine if she didn't visit every day. It falls on deaf ears.

I don't want to hurt Caitlin's feelings, but I got used to being alone, and I miss it sometimes. How can I get her to stop coming over so often without making her think I don't want her?

--CRAVING SOME SOLITUDE IN ARKANSAS

DEAR CRAVING:

Well, some people are just never satisfied, are they?

You couldn't wait to arrange a hasty marriage for Caitlin at age 18 to the butcher's son so you could parade around your house in your leopard-print drawers, then, all-of-a-sudden you decided to have your ovaries excavated as a ploy to force Caitlin to return home to you so she could dress up like Clara Barton and dress your wounds. Now, you want to kick her ass out again and you have the nerve to write to me to ask me for a polite way to tell her that you don't want her around anymore.

Honey, I'm glad you did. If there's one thing I'm good at, it's making other people feel unwanted/uncomfortable/unwelcomed. Here's a few ideas:

* Wait till there's a moment where Caitlin is getting all chummy with you on the sofa or something. Smile benignly at her. She'll do so too. Wait a few moments, maybe clear your throat or hum a few bars of a popular tune. Then, from inside your jacket pocket, remove a sopping wet, Kosher dill pickle approximately the size of of Hulk Hogan's dick. Without saying anything, shove the thing in your mouth as far as it will go and bite down with gusto. Then, as you're chewing and as sour green chunks go flying to and fro, turn to Caitlin, smile broadly, and offer her a bite of the pickle. (Note: This one works especially well if you're on a train and want the person who decided to sit next to you to move to a different seat.)

* The next time Caitlin comes over and has to use the bathroom, quietly exit the house and walk around until you have a clear view of the bathroom window from outside. Then, fire a tear gas grenade through the window. For a difficult case like Caitlin, I would probably recommend an Aerko International Clear Out 6oz Tear Gas Grenade, with a 360-degree spin circumference when landing on a hard, flat surface (like a tiled bathroom floor) for maximum coverage. According to keepshooting.com, this product will "deliver a fog to incapacitate a large crowd!" That should send a clear message to Caitlin as she sits unsuspecting on the old family toilet.

* When you know Caitlin's coming over soon, shit in every single room of the house. Then, when the doorbell rings, answer it holding a 30-year-old broom and a moldy, pungent shard of paper-towel and announce that you'd like Caitlin to "clean up a little oopsie-doodle."

* If you're not feeling especially violent or scatty, the next time Caitlin pops by for a visit, shave your entire head and prepare the living room to like an operating theatre. Rent some big auxiliary lights and lay down some green sheets, and lie on top of them on the couch. When Caitlin comes in, tell her, in a high-pitched squeal, that Raoul Castro is living inside your head and he's throwing up all over your brain, and that Caitlin is the only person who can get him out. Make sure there is a plate on the coffee table with lots of rusty utensils from a local thrift store.

* Change all your locks, board the windows, sell your house, shred your Social Security card and birth certificate over a Cobb Salad and eat it, move to an unlisted studio in Buenos Aires, get radical, back-alley rhinoplasty and breast augmentation surgery, fix old Volkswagens by the beach and wear nothing but Member's Only jackets and golf pants.

DEAR APRON: I had a bad cold a few weeks ago, and while waiting in my doctor's office, I occupied myself by reading one of the many magazines he keeps there for patients.

It occurred to me later that the magazine I had been holding had also been handled by countless other sick patients during the weeks it had laid there. Couldn't those magazines be carriers of innumerable germs that could infect visiting patients?

Is it possible that providing reading material in hospitals or doctors' waiting rooms could actually be an unhealthy practice? -- GERM THEORIST IN CONNECTICUT

DEAR MONK:

Ding Ding Ding Ding Ding! Congratulations, "Germ Theorist!" You are the winner! You are absolutely, without question the only person on the face of the earth and in the history of the world who has uncovered the great incongruity of doctors' offices leaving germ-covered magazines scattered around tables that are handled by sick people!

Guess what you win? SWINE FLU, MOTHERFUCKER!

OINK OINK!

DEAR APRON: What is the proper title for your mother's third husband? I have looked everywhere and can't find an answer. I know that her second husband is my stepfather, but I am curious what the third one is called. -- NAME DROPPER IN ALABAMA

DEAR NAME DROPPER:

I'm so glad you wrote in for advice on this most pressing matter. Now, because you've written about this issue that, no doubt, millions of people worldwide are struggling with every day, perhaps more people will come forward and seek help, and know that their pain and confusion is shared by people-- people just like you.

Now, the proper title for your mother's third husband? How about "Soon-to-be-Deceased?" or "Replacement-Pending?" Obviously, your mother is a black widow, and is hungry for another killing. The question will be, what will you call Number 4? And when will you call the police?